


we were almost

by thelandscaper



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009), Inglourious Basterds RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, POV Fredrick Zoller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 02:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13917177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelandscaper/pseuds/thelandscaper
Summary: If Shosanna hadn't shot him. If Fredrick hadn't shot her. If they'd just stopped for a moment. A re-imagining of what happened in that projection booth.





	we were almost

“You should go.” It’s not an order, but Fredrick can’t deny the coldness that makes the statement seem so far from a suggestion.

 

He smiles unwittingly. It’s only slight, a mere shadow of his wide grin. He doesn’t want her to turn him away any longer. He doesn’t want her to deny him. She’s making it more difficult for him all the time. And he only becomes more and more infatuated.

 

Her eyes betray her words. She looks like a deer in the headlights. Afraid, surprised, not ready for destruction but forced to face it anyway. It makes him more concerned that she might see him as a source of destruction. Well, he is. Was. Still is. But… but for her sake he wants to be good. Whatever good means to her. He wants to be that for her. So that she won’t turn away from him. If he had to run a hundred miles for one of her rare smiles, he would run forever. That’s the truth of it. But as it stands, she would never take him. And he can’t take back Italy. Would he want to? He is a hero, revered by all (but her). He’s an actor now. And he’s a hero. So why does she make him want those titles to go away?

 

He stands in that doorway with that sad, sheepish smile and eyes full of hope. Fredrick Zoller looks down at this beautiful French woman and doesn’t know how he can ever be worthy of her attention, but he tries his luck all the time.

 

“May I come in?” He tries again, attempting to break her down with his charm. “If you don’t let me in, I’ll just keep knocking.”

 

One of her eyebrows lifts up, giving him a look that asks: Are you  _ serious _ ? And for a few moments, he thinks that she might just close the door on him. But then, she does something that she’s been doing for the last few days: she walks away from him. She goes to her projector, hands trembling.

 

Fredrick tentatively steps in. Is this real? Has she actually let him inside her private space?

 

“Lock the door,” she says without turning back. 

 

Fredrick looks at her a little shell-shocked. What did she just say?

 

Perhaps sensing his inactivity, she turns her head to give him a onceover. “Lock the door,” she repeats.

 

Dumbly, he turns around and closes the door, executing her order like the good soldier he is. He’s unfamiliar with the type of lock, but after about ten seconds of fumbling with it, it clicks into place. After that, he turns back to her, but she is concentrating.

 

He is here. In her space. He hasn’t anticipated getting this far, and now he’s a little out of his depth. He exhales, a bigger smile gracing his face as he looks around the dark booth. He locks his hands behind his back, slowly making his way toward her. “Emmanuelle,” he whispers amusingly, hoping to get her attention. He wants to annoy her. He wants to take her mind off this film.

 

She pauses, stopping her work to become still. Then, just as quickly, she resumes. “Fredrick.” The name is hesitant on her tongue.

 

He can’t help but smile. He likes her so much. He wants to know so much about her. So he leans against the wall, examining her thoughtfully with that charming smile. “Why did you let me in?”

 

She gives him a look like he’s a child. “You threatened to keep knocking, remember?”

 

He gives off a little laugh, emboldened by her reaction. “Maybe I wouldn’t have.”

 

She gives an exasperated sigh, looking at him again. “Fredrick, I let you in. Now leave me alone.”

 

His smile melts away, and anger bubbles up under the surface.  _ Impertinent girl _ , his militaristic self seethes. _ She can’t order you around _ . For a moment, he almost loses his courtesy. He almost gives her a piece of his mind.

 

But then he sees her hands trembling again. “Why are you shaking?” he asks coolly, examining her face. She’s nervous. The deer-in-the-headlights look remains.

 

She looks down, then back at the reel. “There isn’t much time,” she murmurs, her voice shaking.

 

Military training takes over. Fredrick grabs her arm, pulling her to him aggressively. “What is going on, Emmanuelle?” he asks quietly.

 

Now she’s looking at him with fear. “You’re hurting me.”

 

He doesn’t care. He’s fed up with all of this. “I am sorry for what I’ve done. I am sorry for killing those people. I’m sorry for starring in the film about it--”

 

“Fredrick, you’re hurting--”

 

He takes her other arm too, turning her so that her back is on the wall. He can see the film going in the window to the left of her head. “I want you to see me as a person. I don’t know what I can do to make that happen. Tell me. What should I do to make you love me?”

 

She winces, closing her eyes. “You’re hurting me.”

 

Fredrick releases her arms like they’re burning hot, stepping back quickly. He watches her, mortified, as she examines the places where bruises will surely form. He looks down at his hands, frustrated with himself. He can never act the way his heart wants him to. The incongruencies never end. He turns away from her, unable to face her any longer.

 

He should have gone when she told him to.

 

“Fredrick?”

 

He can’t face her. He can feel the waterworks starting, the tears forming in his eyes. None of this was supposed to happen. He just wanted to serve the country he loved. He just wanted comradery. He didn’t want to be alone in that bird’s nest. He didn’t want to look at anybody like they were less than human, but he slaughtered 300 Jews. He just wanted to feel love, but those three days didn’t make him feel anything close to love.

 

The only thing he ever wanted was love, and now it seems that even though he’s celebrated by a whole army, it means nothing if the person he loves most doesn’t feel the same way.

 

But then he feels her hand on his shoulder. Through the stiff woolen fabric, it’s hard to gauge her temperature or texture, but the soft pressure is enough to alleviate his anxious thoughts. He turns around, tentatively.

 

She’s looking at him, really looking at him. And she’s crying and smiling. The tears are coming down her face with no end in sight, but she’s looking at him like he’s the last thing she’ll ever see. “My name is Shosanna Dreyfus,” she croons, still wearing that small smile.

 

“Jewish,” he says automatically.  _ Jewish _ .

 

“Yes.”

 

He should feel repulsed. But he doesn’t. He just wants to feel love.

 

She speaks again. “We are all going to die.”

 

He looks down at her, then out at the auditorium. The film is no longer his. It’s hers. _ “I have a message for Germany.” _

 

His mouth drops. Fredrick watches, possessed, as the screen burns and the gunfire begins. He feels nothing. He feels numb. Until Emmanuelle-- Shosanna-- puts her other hand on the side of his face. He looks down at her pained expression, and in that moment, he knows that she has orchestrated all of this. “You?”

 

“Me.”

 

Fredrick looks at her, really looks at her. “Shosanna,” he sounds. He leans down, rests his hands on her waist, and kisses her.

 

She kisses him back. A few moments later, the Basterds’ explosives blow up the whole goddamn place.


End file.
